Based on Habakkuk, God Among the Ruins by Mags Duggan journeys through times of hardship into hope found by being transformed by God. Read an excerpt from God Among the Ruins below:

Introduction

I’d slept deeply but woke suddenly, fully awake, aware of five words pulsing gently and insistently in my mind.

‘Even though… even here… Emmanuel. Even though… even here… Emmanuel.

As I burrowed more deeply into the warmth of the duvet, my mind began to drift over scriptures I knew which contained those words. David’s words in Psalm 23 came to mind, ‘Even though I walk through the darkest valley… you are with me’ (v. 4, NIV). Job’s agonised declaration that, ‘Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him’ (Job 13:15, NIV). The psalmist’s discovery, recorded for us in Psalm 139, that whether the circumstances of his life took him to great depths or to great heights, whether his life was expansive or narrow, in darkness as in light – even here God was present, Emmanuel, God with us, was present (v. 10).

And then familiar words from the end of the book of Habakkuk: Even though the fig tree does not blossom, even though there is no fruit on the vine… yet I will rejoice (Habakkuk 3:17–18).

As I began to reflect on these ‘even though’s, I realised that each one was a declaration of trust and hope and confidence in distressing or devastating circumstances. This last scripture particularly stirred something deep within me. I remembered so little about the book of Habakkuk, but there was something about his defiant ‘even though’s in the face of such obvious loss that drew me out of bed that dawning morning. A full pot of coffee, my favourite throw, a comfy sofa, my Bible and a pen later, and I was ready to walk with Habakkuk.

I turned to those last verses again and I could almost hear Habakkuk’s voice asserting,

Even though the fig trees have no blossoms,

and there are no grapes on the vines;

even though the olive crop fails,

and the fields lie empty and barren;

even though the flocks die in the fields,

and the cattle barns are empty,

yet I will rejoice in the Lord!

I will be joyful in the God of my salvation!

The Sovereign Lord is my strength!

HABAKKUK 3:17–19

They were defiantly hope-laden words in the face of devastating circumstances, of loss and need, of ruined work and failed expectations.

How had he come into such a hopeful place? I couldn’t remember, so I turned to the beginning of this little book and after the very briefest of introductions was confronted with the words:

How long, O Lord, must I call for help?

But you do not listen!

‘Violence is everywhere!’ I cry,

but you do not come to save…

Why must I watch all this misery?

HABAKKUK 1:2–3

I flipped to the end again and checked the verses – and back again to the beginning. Questions began to form even as the sun rose: how did he get from the outraged questions of the opening verses to the outpourings of confident hope in the closing words? What was the route he took? Where were the pathways he’d left? And where was God in it all?

These were not academic questions, but ones for which I was desperate for answers. I needed some kind of deepened hope, some kind of help that might ease the heavy ache of grief I had been carrying for over two years, a pain I had no inkling was coming when I arrived at my mum’s home for the weekend in November 2010.

God Among the Ruins is available to order today.